


Loving a Monolith

by Breath4Soul



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Humor, Im not gay, John's Inner Monologue, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Pining, Pining John, Post-Episode: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song, Snark, Unread, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited, Unrequited Love, doctor who - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breath4Soul/pseuds/Breath4Soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A short & sweet internal monologue of John Watson inspired by watching the 2015 Dr. Who Christmas special “The Many Husbands of River Song.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Can there really be any doubt that his internal monologue is <i>this</i> snarky?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving a Monolith

“I’m not gay” is by far the easiest rebuttal to the constant innuendos that Sherlock and I are something more. Far easier than; “he’s married to his work and I’m a danger junkie” or “he’s a high-functioning sociopath and I’m just along for the ride,” or, my new retort, currently under consideration thanks to Dr. Who, “he’s not capable of something that _small_ or _ordinary_ \- he’s a goddamn _sunset._ ” 

I’m sure that’d earn me some interesting looks.

After all “I’m not gay,” points out the fatal flaw in their assumption while still implying the power - the barrier - rests with me. As if, with some fervent commitment to a rigid sexual identity, I am somehow the one holding our relationship precariously balanced on that fine line between friendship and everything their knowing smiles and nudging comments imply. 

I’m _not_. John Watson is _not_ playing hard to get and Sherlock Holmes sure the hell is _not_ chasing me. If he’d wanted to catch me he would have by now. He’s a bloody genius that makes his living catching people that don’t want to be caught - catching those that _no one else_ can. 

So there it is and there’s nothing for it.

My feeble attempt at denial is the truth. Not the _whole_ truth, but _a_ truth. If, as Mycroft says, _“bravery”_ is “by far the kindest word for _stupidity_ ,” then “ _not-gay”_ is by far the kindest way to say “not into blokes but completely _ass-over-tits_ for Sherlock Holmes.” Which is, to be honest, its own _special_ form of stupidity.

He’s a monolith; a strangely beautiful and unique creature that hasn’t the slightest interest in reciprocating my admiration. 

In lieu of trying to explain _that_ to all the nosy strangers or even the well meaning Angelo or Mrs. Hudson I just keep trotting out my old and ineffective excuse, because really, what else can I do? 

It’s all well and good to love the stars or a sunset or a monolith, but it would be _foolish_ to expect it to love you back.


End file.
